


Letter H: Hiding an Injury

by authorangelita (angel)



Series: Fic Alphabet Challenge: Teen Wolf [13]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidents, Gen, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 14:14:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6379405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel/pseuds/authorangelita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is doing training drills with the werewolves.  What could go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letter H: Hiding an Injury

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Fic Alphabet Challenge at [my Tumblr](http://authorangelita.tumblr.com)
> 
> Set during an AU Season 2 where Derek is the alpha and Scott trains with the pack. 
> 
> Catching up on the H prompts I missed posting. Enjoy!

Stiles should have known that a human training with a pack of werewolves was a bad idea. More to the point, he should have been able to foresee what a terrible plan it was to have him spar with Scott, the least in control of his abilities but with the gentlest of hearts. 

They were in their third round of 'pin Stiles as fast as werewolf-y possible' when Stiles zigged while Scott expected him to zag, which meant that Scott's grip on his left wrist tightened just as Stiles spun in the opposite direction. Agony flared from his wrist to his shoulder and into his chest. 

He didn't make a sound because he couldn't get a breath, but he did fall gracelessly to the ground and curl around his left arm, as if that would stop the pain.

"Oh, my god! Stiles! Are you okay?"

The other werewolves were alerted by Scott's shouting, and Stiles panicked. Scott would be upset if he knew that he'd hurt his best friend, and Derek would ban him from training forever, which was unacceptable. Stiles needed to know how to defend himself and his friends. 

He took a deep breath and forced himself to stop cradling his injured arm against his chest. He guided it down to his lap as he sat up and then put up his right hand to stop the others from getting closer. "I'm fine. I'm good."

Scott moved forward, and Stiles twitched back. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, you just knocked the wind out of me." He made a show of getting his breathing back under control while he held out his uninjured hand. Scott immediately understood, reaching out to pull him to his feet. "I'm going to take a break. Get some water. Hydration is important. Humans and werewolves both need water. You should all hydrate."

He made his way over to the back of the Jeep where the tailgate was open to show the 7-Eleven bags of random snacks they'd picked up on their way out to the Preserve near the remnants of the Hale house. On the ground by the back wheel, there was a large cooler with their drinks. Stiles rummaged in the back with his uninjured hand long enough to find an old rag, filthy with engine oil and who-knows-what-else. Then, he sat down on the ground where he could lean against the back tire and made a makeshift ice pack out of the rag and ice from the cooler. 

For a few minutes, he tried not to draw attention to himself while watching as Derek organized a group spar where two randomly selected wolves – first up were Erica and Isaac – battled until Derek called someone else's name. While they were all distracted by the match, he gingerly pulled his hoodie sleeve up and inspected his left wrist. It was swelling rapidly and already black and purple with deep bruising. 

Since he hadn't actually heard the sound of bone breaking, he decided that it was just a bad sprain. He hissed as he applied the ice, fidgeting as the throbbing grew sharp for a few minutes and then blessedly started to dull with the cold. 

The wolves sparred for another thirty minutes or so before Derek called it a day and gave them his assessments. "Issac, work on keeping your head up at all times so you can keep track of your opponent. Boyd, you need to move more; don't expect that you'll always be able to absorb the blows. Erica, keep your hands up to protect your face. Scott, less acrobatics, more hand-to-hand, okay? And Stiles, you need to focus better."

Stiles snorted. "Story of my life." He levered himself to his feet, subtly shaking the ice out of the rag, as the group made their way over and grabbed drinks and snacks. "Full moon's coming up in a few days. What's the plan, alpha-man?"

Derek raised an eyebrow but didn't comment on the nickname. "We'll meet back here before sunset and go on a run. You," he pointed decisively at Stiles' chest, "will stay home."

"What? You're kidding me, right? Scott, he's kidding, isn't he?" 

Scott eyed Derek over the rim of his soda can and shook his head. "There wasn’t a change in his heartbeat. And he's Derek."

"It's too dangerous, Stiles. Sparring's one thing, but you're not coming out with us during the full moon."

Stiles sputtered and waved his right hand around in broad gestures to distract from the fact that he wasn't moving his left arm. "You can't bench me. You need me."

Isaac gave him a distasteful look. "For what exactly."

"For… things! Human things! And other stuff." 

Derek growled – honest to god growled – and Stiles shut his mouth with an audible click.

"It's not up for discussion." Derek pointed toward the access road that led back out to the highway. "Get out of here, all of you. Rest up for the full moon, and we'll meet back here Friday night."

Erica grinned at Stiles, obviously knowing that he would disobey the alpha on Friday, as she followed the usually silent Boyd to his car. Isaac trailed after them, leaving Stiles, Scott and Derek in the clearing. 

Scott set the cooler in the back of the Jeep and closed the tailgate, which gave Stiles enough time to flex his fingers and hide his pained reaction by turning away and biting his lip. There was no way he'd be able to drive the stick-shift, which required two hands, at all, much less down the rutted access road. 

He turned and then jumped backwards, clutching his left arm to his chest, when Derek stepped right in front of him. "Whoa! Personal space! It's a thing."

Derek frowned and looked him up and down. "You're hurt."

"I'm fine."

Derek's elevator eyes were even creepier the second time. "Let me see your arm."

"What? No. No way." Stiles tried to push past him with his right hand but Derek snaked an arm around his waist and moved him away from the Jeep. "Put me down!"

"Let me see your arm, and then I'll let you leave."

"Stiles?" Scott sounded upset, and Stiles hated that. This was one of the things he wanted to avoid by going home and wrapping his wrist himself. 

Stiles glanced at Scott and sighed. "It's fine. It's just a sprain."

Scott reached for his arm, but Derek got there first. He held Stiles' arm by the elbow with one hand and gently peeled back the cuff of Stiles' hoodie with the other. "It doesn't look good. You need an x-ray and some pain medication." 

"It's. Just. A. Sprain." Stiles said, slowly. He pulled away as Derek moved to touch his wrist and whimpered as he jostled the injury. 

"It looks worse than your ankle did when you tried to fly off your roof." Scott was neither helpful nor correct. His ankle had looked a lot worse twisted and forcing his foot in the wrong direction. 

"Come on." Derek put a hand on his shoulder and guided him toward the Camaro. 

"But the Jeep?"

"I'll follow you guys in it. Keys?" Scott held out his hand and wiggled his fingers when Stiles didn't immediately comply. 

Stiles glared at his best friend until Derek kicked his foot to get him moving. "They're in the ignition," Stiles mumbled and reluctantly followed Derek to his car.

Both Derek and Stiles were quiet on the way to the hospital. Stiles knew that it was unnerving the werewolf; he wasn't unaware of how he often rambled aimlessly, but his arm hurt, and he didn't feel like putting forth the effort. 

Scott must have called ahead because Mrs. McCall was waiting for them when they all stepped into the ER. She ushered Stiles back to an exam room and stayed with him while the doctor looked at him, ordered x-rays, and ultimately wrapped the wrist in a brace. The official diagnosis was a Grade 2 sprain. Not the worst, but not the best either. 

Unfortunately, Sheriff Stilinski had to come and sign Stiles out of the hospital. Derek had left once he found out that Stiles' injury wasn't serious, and Scott offered to take Stiles' Jeep home. Since the Sheriff had to get back to work, Scott drove Stiles home.

"I'm really sorry, dude," Scott said as he propped Stiles' arm up on a pillow and applied one of the many ice packs from the Stilinski's freezer.

Stiles waved it off and almost brained himself with the remote in his uninjured hand. He surfed through the Netflix options before settling on a Marvel movie. "It was an accident. I'll be okay in a couple of weeks."

"Still. I shouldn't have used that much strength anyway."

"Scott, look at me. I'm human, but I'm not fragile. I like training with you guys because I have to know how to defend myself, and you guys when the situation calls for it. Stop giving me the puppy dog eyes. I'm not going to stop training."

Scott sighed and looked miserable and vaguely sick.

"I'm tired," Stiles said into the silence a few minutes later. "Let's talk about this later."

Scott nodded, and they both turned their attention to the fake fight on-screen.

~End


End file.
